"Shit."

"Shit!"

"Just one stupid option left."

The sirens were fading as the red and blue bled out of the patchy rooftops. Above, the sky held deep midnight blue, a glowing white disk at the center of it. Below, the streets pushed their warm orange glow upward, catching the tiles on the way.

The sirens were never the problem.

"How unfortunate, Dopi!" Luke's voice, carrying across the tiles like he owned them. "Your luck finally ran out."

Opium pressed his back against the chimney, sun-bleached and familiar, and went still. He'd used this spot before.

He peered over his shoulder. Four taller figures steadily crept forward, their heads weaving left and right.

'And Luke calls 'me' persistent.'

"Come out, come out, wherever ye-ar," one of them shouted. "We know you're here!"

The buildings of the town huddled shoulder to shoulder in a slummy patchwork of cracked stone covered in weathered plaster, except for the massive gap straight ahead.

"I've been itching for this. Let's see how many hits it takes before I can finally wipe that fucking smirk off of your face!" Luke called out.

Opium tore his gaze from the four silhouettes to his other side and looked down to the street.

'Far...'

His stomach turned from the sight.

He then looked straight ahead. The fire escape across the gap was not only very distant, but collapsed midway down.

"No way down, fuckface. Just give up!" one of Luke's lackeys called.

'Oh yea? What do you think Buddy'

<i>

He breathed in once, the night air cool and clean, then stepped out of the shadows.

A smaller, fragile kid with sunken eyes appeared before the four.

In one hand, a white plastic grocery bag rustled with snacks and caffeinated beverages.

In the other, a tightly knotted blue bag that sagged with weight.

"Alright, you got me." Opium said.

He faced them and stood his ground, not wanting them to see what was now behind him.

"Hones'ly thought you older kids would've slipped and cracked y'ur skulls by now."

He jingled the white bag, raising it like a peace offering.

"Snacks, anyone? We take the high road, I go my way, you go y'urs?" He pulled a soda can from the bag, grinning.

Luke's jaw tightened. He rolled one shoulder forward, the way he always did before he swung.

"How-bout you jus' hand over that blue bag instead," he called, "and maybe we'll let you walk away with jus' a few bruises."

"For the bag, we'll go gentle on you."

"I'm sure you got a good haul this time," another snickered.

Opium glanced down at the blue bag in question.

Four hundred bucks worth. Enough to get the cops involved. Enough to get Luke interested.

He lowered the snack bag and casually lifted the blue one halfway.

"Oh, this old thing?" he smirked. "Tell you what. Since we're all friends here, special deal: whoever jumps first gets the prize."

The group spread into a semicircle. Four sets of shoes scraping closer on tile.

"I'll even throw in a soda can."

They sprinted towards him but Opium was already moving, whipping the can straight at them.

They flinched. But not enough.

He spun, sprinted away from them.

The half-broken fire escape waited at the edge. He ran full speed toward it...

And jumped.

"Is he mad?!!"

Shouts and swears echoed in the air.

They rushed to the edge and saw it, what Opium was hiding, why he didn't want them any closer.

A narrow lower roof, tucked just beneath the lip. A hidden step they couldn't see from their angle.

The roof sloped downward, pushing Opium with momentum as he ran. Almost sliding down as the tiles clattered beneath his feet.

"Follow him!" Luke barked.

They dropped down, scrambling after him, but they were seconds too late.

Opium reached the edge of the second lower roof. His mental map screamed a warning.

No ledge this time. No secondary. No backup.

Just one stupid option left.

---

Opium wasn't planning on slowing down.

He reached the second edge and leaped toward the fire escape across the gap. Putting all his faith into the jump.

For a heartbeat, there was no city, no sound, no ground.

Only distance.

His dark, oversized clothes caught the air, billowing wide in the moonlight. His scruffy white hair whipped across his eyes.

If not for that earlier sloped rooftop, this jump would've been suicide.

For one terrible instant, he thought he'd misjudged the distance.

Then steel caught him.

Rusted metal clanked violently beneath him as he rolled onto the short landing. His back slammed into cracked plaster, shielding the bags from the impact.

Every joint locked up at once. His ribs felt like they'd been shoved somewhere they didn't belong.

He glanced back. Three of the four were already in the air.

Opium shoved the bag loops up to the creases of his elbows and leaped onto the first ladder and started climbing. Several more waited above.

The steel rattled beneath his feet.

"Get back here, you little shit!"

One wrong step and they'd have him.

He shoved that thought aside. No time to imagine what they'd do if they caught him.

Climb. Pivot. Climb.

The bags swayed wildly, throwing off his balance. His thin hands burned with every rung. Each ascent took more than the last. His legs were going soft beneath him, that borrowed energy draining out like water through a cracked cup.

Floor after floor blurred together until he reached the final ladder. Rung after rung, the roof finally came into view.

Relief was only able to flicker before a hand clamped around his ankle.

"Gotcha, fucker!"

A powerful yank dragged him down.

He slipped sideways, barely catching the rungs. His fingers bent the wrong way and held on anyway.

The grip wouldn't budge.

The others were closing in.

'Shit!'

Opium looked down, teeth gritted as the grip dragged at his leg.

The ladder groaned beneath the strain. His arms trembled, the tendons in his wrists twitching like plucked strings.

He angled his captured foot.

Then he let go.

Dropping his full weight into the trapped leg, his foot slammed downward into the goon's face.

The man cried out and lost his grip, falling backward into another. They collided in a flailing tangle of limbs and rusted metal.

Opium didn't wait to see how bad the fall was.

The last few rungs disappeared beneath him. Lungs burning, he hauled himself over the edge and nearly collapsed onto the roof.

---

The smell hit him before the sight did. Cheap detergent and damp cotton, heavy in the summer air.

Before him stretched a maze of laundry lines, thick with shirts, pants, bedsheets, and fluttering fabric. Layers dense enough to swallow anything beyond a flicker of movement.

Opium tore through the maze, snatching socks, shirts, scraps of fabric off the lines as he moved. They bundled together in his hands until he had a soft, tangled mass.

Behind him, the fire escape clanked. Luke was already up.

"I see you Dopi! You can't escape!"

The bundle and both bags were slowing him. But he didn't plan to carry the fabric for long.

He stopped and pivoted.

Through a narrow gap in the cloth, he saw a shadow closing on him, fast.

He didn't run.

He ran toward it.

They crashed through the final curtain of fabric. Opium dipped lower, shoulders braced, and hurled the bundled clothes straight into Luke's face. Fabric wrapped around his head, blinding him.

Opium veered right and dove, rolling beneath the wide grab Luke threw blind. Coming up, he kicked the back of Luke's knee. It buckled. His kneecap hit the tiles with a sound like a stone dropping on wood.

Then Opium planted a kick square on his back. Luke toppled forward into the hanging sheets, tearing two lines down with him.

By the time Luke ripped the fabric off his face, Opium's shadow had already melted deeper into the cloth.

Behind him, the rest of the crew cursed and stumbled through the tangle of lines.

'You Rats are all the same.'

---

He knew which roof before he got there.

The corner tucked between two walls of old stone, plaster-patched and solid. Canvas overhead, tied to the vent pipe, a folded cloth in the angle where the walls met. He'd built it with almost nothing and kept it that way on purpose.

As soon as he stopped moving, he collapsed flat on his back, with both bags still looped at his elbows. The tiles were warm from the day's heat.

His chest heaved. His hands wouldn't stop shaking. The burning in his palms from the ladder rungs hit all at once, now that there was nothing left to grip.

Slowly, the night settled back over him. The breeze carried the smell of a family's dinner from a few roofs over. Something with garlic. Someone was asking "what did you put in this." Someone else saying "just eat it." Then the quiet of people doing exactly that.

I asked.

Opium was quiet for a moment. He patted the bags next to him.

"What do you think, Buddy."

"Why do you think I got these bags in the first place."

He lay there a moment, looking up at the canvas shifting faintly in the breeze. The night was exactly the kind he'd want to sleep through.

"I made a promise, remember?"

"Have you forgotten."

...

---

After a while Opium got up and walked over to a set of ladders. He climbed down from the rooftop, onto the street. Carefully this time.

Better rested and two bags still in his grasp, he started walking.

Home wasn't far. But it wasn't close either.

But settling down only let the other fear in.

'The absolute worst is yet to come.'

He stopped mid-step, the thought slamming into his chest like a cold iron plate.

"I'd rather be caught by those fuckers than..."

His mouth closed around the rest of it. His feet didn't move for a long time.

But a promise is a promise.